Prisoner
by UltimateSway
Summary: One ShotRated M for language and sexual situations Everyone needs someone, but then once you find them what happens when you get in over your head? Relationships built around a secret can’t really be relationships, can they?


**Disclaimer: We own nothing. JKR and her publishers have copy written their material so it is necessary to often insert these stupid bits.**

_A/N: As this is our first story done together, we would appreciate your reviews so that we may better our selves for future stories. Plot originally made by Ultimate, Sway only did some of the buffering. Credit due to Ultimate for being such an awesome writer! Sway_

**Prisoner**

I shouldn't be doing this. But I'm doing it anyway.

I know that I shouldn't be doing this. Oh well, fuck it, I'm doing it anyway.

As I rush through the empty hallway, those sentences echo within my head. I shouldn't be doing this. But I'm doing it anyway. It's maddening the way my mind keeps screaming at me, and the way I chose to ignore it, as I do every time.

She drives me crazy, insane, completely out of my mind, mental. Sometimes I wonder if it's my conscience nagging at me, telling me how wrong I am, and then there are times when I realize that I have no control over my desire, my lust for her. Though lust isn't the word I would like to use to describe this hunger, no, it's more of an aching, a yearning for that which only she can provide me.

I close my eyes; letting the sound of my sharp breathing and the hurry in my foot steps against the stone fill my ears; the image of her face fill my mind - such innocence, such purity, such perfection. A roaring flame ruptures within me as I imagine running a single finger across her lips, across her pale, smooth skin…along her jawbone, then down her neck…

I groan out loud, which was surprising and could have very well been a mistake on my part. Deciding to pick up my pace I'm almost running down the deserted corridors. I need her right now. I must have her before I explode.

I find her waiting for me in her room, in her usual position, with the usual expression of longing on her features. I am aroused. She hastens towards me as I come to a stop a few feet away from her. I can not make my feet comply with my command for them to move, but I would never let her know that.

"Don't move," I growl.

She freezes. She doesn't dare disobey me.

I approach her, and as the distance between us lessens, I can see her quivering. I draw even closer, and I see fear in her eyes, a fear that contrasts sharply with the evident nostalgia in the way her lips are set.

I laugh once I reach her; it's a dry hard sort of laugh. She flinches, fighting the inner battle to jerk away from me, the one I can see being fought behind the gleam of terror in her eyes. After all, she is _mine_ – I know her, every part of her. I've explored her mind, her body, and her soul. Possibly even corrupted that damned goodness inside her.

She can tell I am drunk by the tone of my voice, and her bottom lip begins to tremble. In the blink of an eye, I press the pad of my index finger to her lips and say, "Shhh… you don't have to be afraid."

"I – I'm not…" Her voice falters, and the fear in her eyes multiplies, as I continue to still rest my finger on her lips. I know she longs for me to replace it with my own lips. There is no harm in making her wait, making her want.

Tears gather in her eyes, making them shine brighter than before. Shine just like her love for me, the love even I can see behind that looming fear; a shine unlike the shadow that resides within me which leads me to do this.

"Good," I say, a faint smile turning the corners of my mouth.

Moments later, she is shaking beneath me as I kiss her with such intensity and passion that I scare even myself. Her hands, cut from the many times I've pressed them against walls and floors capped with jagged rocks, are resting on my back as she digs her fingernails deep into my flesh. Her hips, bruised by the times I gripped onto her so forcefully that she cried out in pain, are thrust up against mine as I pin her against the wall behind her. All of it is for my pleasure and mine only.

I pull away, wiping my lips forcefully with the back of my hand as if wiping away the impurities I gather from contact with someone like her.

"You will tell no one," I hiss venomously. But I don't need to say it out loud. Deep down, I know she won't, she wouldn't dare. She lives only for me, because she has no one else.

It's surprising how similar we really are.

There's a girl in my house who absolutely worships me. I see it in her eyes every time I pass her by – the hunger in her round blue eyes reveals everything, even that which I do not wish to see. On multiple occasions she has tried to coax me into her bed. Every once in a while, I fulfill her wishes and fuck her, but only out of pure boredom. On those late and lonely nights, when there is far too much to risk on ventures to meet the one I own, I've got to have something to do.

Tonight is one of those times. She saunters up to me, her hips swaying from side to side in a most unflattering way. I look at her blankly, not really seeing her there, she disgusts me but I am the one in control, I'm the one that matters, the only one. I pay no attention to what she says to me, her words are meaningless, that unflattering bit of clothing, meaningless, her feelings, they too are meaningless; but I let her lead me up to my dormitory anyway. I'm up for anything to elevate this damned boredom. I lay still and let her do what she wants with my body, better to have her work for it than me. The eroticism in her half-closed eyes disgusts me. She's like an animal, feeding on her prey, devouring it wholly. I close my eyes and imagine I'm somewhere else. I imagine that the bouncing breasts on top of me belong to Hermione, not to Pansy, as Hermione's seem to have much more life in them.

With a jolt, I throw Pansy off of me and scramble into a sitting position, covering my bits as best I can with the tangle of sheets. The realization of what these sudden feelings are were coursing through my body – a flood of emotions stronger than any I have ever known, and it's too much, far too much.

It was love.

Not for Pansy though, heavens no, not for that slut.

Suddenly I want to run, run far away from this place; I want to escape the confinements of myself, forget everything I've ever known. I want to turn around, to go back and pretend that I had never met Hermione…that I never knew her in the way I do now…But it's too late. The damage has been done.

It's now my turn to understand. I have not enslaved Hermione; it is she who has enslaved me.

I am her prisoner.


End file.
